


You're Kind of Stunning

by grandfatherclock



Series: Uptown Girl [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Community: widojest love, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 21:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19181395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grandfatherclock/pseuds/grandfatherclock
Summary: Jester Lavorre is bored. Maybe the new janitor Blude hired can provide a decent enough distraction.





	You're Kind of Stunning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poyoboyo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poyoboyo/gifts).



> For poyo!
> 
> A song to accompany this would be Uptown Girl.

Jester Lavorre is many things—but right now, she's mostly  _tired_.

She pouts as she perches on her mother's bed, crossing her arms and leaning against the headboard. Blude was supposed to be here _ten minutes ago_ —how can he accompany her to the dance Lord and Lady Sharpe are hosting if he isn't fucking _here_? She can feel her annoyance building up inside her by the minute, and _fuck_ , there are tears threatening to spill onto her freckled cheeks. She angrily rubs them away. He _knows_ how much she wants to go, she's been shaking with excitement all _day_ , so.... Jester's stomach drops. He forgot. He _forgot_.

Well, _fuck_. Jester pushes herself off the bed, and opens the door, plastering an insincere smile on her face. The orange glow of the chandeliers makes her brown skin glow, and the way her lips are stretched is radiant—it's the most, maybe the _only_ , perfect thing about her. She's certainly practiced in it enough that it would be a damn shame if it isn't. She walks down the steps of the winding staircase, listening to the sounds of her heels _click_ against the hardwood, and exhales, before entering the main lobby.

It's bustling with waiters and cooks and janitors right now, in preparation for her mother's performance later in the night, and she moves past the rush with a practiced ease, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear and grinning when a waiter almost runs into her. He furiously apologizes, and Jester waves him away, searching for a tall bald man with a grimace on his face. She finds Nott instead, currently in the middle of vacuuming the lush red carpet, and she leans against the wall beside her. " _Hiiiii, Nott_."

Nott looks up at her, and gives her a genuine if distracted smile. "Jester," she says, her voice high and reedy and so, so lovely. She brushes some of her straight black hair away from her face, and beams at her. She's in uniform—blue and flat and ugly—but there are minor changes she's made, such as the buttons woven in along her sleeve and the pins on along her front, that make the look kind of work for her. "I would _really_ like to hang out, but—"

"I know," Jester says, crossing her arms and scanning the room. There's always a  _but_ —and Jester  _gets it_ , people have  _lives_ , people have  _work_ , but... fucking...  _he promised_. "Have you seen _Blude_?"

There's a pause, as Nott considers. "Blude?" she mutters, scratching the back of her neck. She looks confused for a second, and then widens her eyes. "Oh, right, you probably haven't heard. He's showing the new kid the works."

Jester's smile freezes. New kid. _New kid_. He promised he would take her to this dance _three days_ _ago_ , and she's been waiting in this lovely blue dress, and he's showing some new kid _the ropes_? Gods, she feels so... ridiculous. Dressed all nice, while Blude does his _actual_ job. She shouldn't be mad, it's not like... this dance is _important_...

"You alright?" Nott asks, eyebrows furrowed. Her dark eyes are probing and curious, and Jester remakes herself under that worried gaze.

"Of _course_ I am," she says, beaming. Jester plays with the edge of the dress. "This new guy _cute_?" She bugs her eyes out teasingly.

Nott smirks. "He's my _best friend_ , and _I_ happen to think he's the _smartest_ and the _coolest_ and the most _handsome_. But he and Blude just walked into the lobby behind you, so—"

" _Where_?" Jester squeals, turning before Nott can finish her sentence. Her eyes search the room, familiar to her probing gaze—for _years_ , this was the most exciting place she ever got to go see—and _there_ , she can see Blude, towering over everyone else with his bald head and characteristic scowl. There's someone else who's with him, someone pale and nervous and sticking close, but Jester doesn't really give a fuck about _him_. Her eyes are trained on her mother's bodyguard as she walks to them with broad, confident steps. "Blude!"

Blude turns, and smiles when he sees her, but the curve of his lips kind of recede when he sees the tension on her shoulders, and her bright, determined gaze. "Jester, what"—she watches with her stomach dropping as his dark eyes widen with understanding—"oh _no_." He puts a hand on her shoulder, and his eyes are full of remorse. "Jester, I'm so _sorry_."

He forgot. He _forgot_. She forces herself to keep holding up the brittle smile on her lips. "It's... okay, Nott says you're  _super_ busy."

His face _twists_. "Oh, Jester—"

"Well?" She raises her eyebrow and tries to look teasing. "Where's the new guy?" _Show me what was more important._

Blude pushes forward the man walking behind him, and the man nearly stumbles to the floor in front of her. She immediately grabs his arm and pulls him to his feet, and he stares at her with wide, surprised eyes. "Say hello, Caleb Widogast."

Caleb Widogast stares at where Jester is still holding his arm, and Jester flushes, letting go. "... Hello," he says, his voice hesitant and awkward and accented. "You're... _really_ strong."

Despite herself, and her shitty fucking mood, Jester can't help but smile shyly at that. She crosses her arms, flexing them a little, and kind of loves how his eyes widen. "I work out, like, _all the time_."

Blude scoffs, but he's still looking at her with his forehead creased, guilt blatant all over his face. "Yeah, right. She has amazing genes."

She smirks. "Well, that _too_." She looks back to Caleb, who is studying her face, and gods... she didn't notice before, but she's certainly noticed now—Nott was _lying_. He isn't handsome, he's _pretty_. There's something almost _delicate_ about the construction of his face, and the paleness of his skin. His pale blue eyes have this reflective quality about them, and right now she can see the shine of the orange glow emanating from the twinkling chandeliers so _wonderfully_ in that gaze. His red hair frames his face so well, and _merde_ , he's biting his _bottom lip—_

"I'm... real sorry, Jester," Blude says, rubbing his neck. "I don't... there aren't enough hours in the day, I'm so sorry I forgot."

_Forgot_. Jester looks to the floor, and forces herself to keep that fucking smile playing on her lips. "It's okay, Blude."

He opens his mouth, like he's going to argue, and Jester wants to scream at him to _shut up, I'm alright, can't you see that I'm alright_ , but then Caleb _winces_ , as someone pushes past them, and then _Nadine_ is standing in front of Blude, a frown on her face. "Hey," Blude says, still looking at Jester.

Nadine sighs, and runs her hand through her curly black hair. "There's an issue with one of the guests."

His gaze snaps to her, and then to Jester, and then to Caleb, who's staring away, anxiously rubbing his arm. "Shit," he hisses. "I'm... I _can't—_ "

"I'll show him around, Blude," Jester says, softly. She meets his gaze. "It's alright." 

" _Jester_ ," he says, and she sees how tired he looks. The sleeves of his white linen shirt are tucked up, and he has light bags under his eyes, like he didn't sleep well last night. "I'm..." He looks like he's at an utter loss. "I'll make it up to you."

Jester nods, trying to appear convincingly enthusiastic as she grabs Caleb by the arm and pulls him with her, far, far away, from _Nadine_ , telling Blude the sordid details, and _Blude_ , watching them walk away. She tilts her head to Caleb, and finds him staring at her hand clutching the sleeve of his shirt. "You okay?" Jester raises an eyebrow.

Caleb grimaces. His cool gaze flicks back to her face, and he gives her an unconvincing smile. "Could you please... let go of my arm?"

Jester widens her eyes in alarm. "Of _course._ " She releases her hold on him and putting her hands on her cheeks in distress. "I'm so  _sorry_ , I should've _asked_."

"It's fine." He looks away, and runs a hand through his hair. Jester has to _force_ herself not to follow the movement with her eyes. "I don't even... your name is Jester?"

She nods, gesturing for him to follow her into the kitchen. She walks with a light bounce in her step, and Caleb seems a little alarmed, looking carefully at her heels like he's trying to ascertain if she's at a reasonable risk of tripping. "Jester Lavorre."

He stills for a second, and Jester turns back to face him. There's shock on his face for just a moment, before his expression smooths over. "Forgive me," he says, looking a little mortified. He rubs his neck, and bites the inside of his cheek. "I didn't know I was in the presence of Madame Lavorre."

Jester giggles, and tilts her head, in a _follow me_ kind of way. He follows with light hesitant steps behind her. "I'm not the _Ruby_ ," she says, over her shoulder.

"But you are the _Little Sapphire_." He flushes, and Jester watches with delight as the pink spreads from his face to his neck. "I'm not very... _inclined_ towards the arts, but _Girl by the River_ was quite... quite something."

_Girl by the River_... he's _seen_ her art? She feels excitement and anxiety build up in the pit of her stomach in equal measure. It's on display at this small local gallery in Nicodranas. Jester has never just _met_ someone who _knows_ about her _art_. She _beams_ at him. "You liked it?" He nods, seeming surprised by her enthusiasm, and she claps her hands together. "Tell me your favourite _part_. Oh, and _how_ you saw it, and if you want my _autograph_!" She's shaking a little, and she digs her hands into her arms so she won't accidentally reach out and grab him again in her excitement.

"My friend dragged me to that gallery," he confesses. "When I saw that painting... the lovely blue lady, with all those flowers she was planting by that river, it was enrapturing." He gives her a hesitant smile. "The roses were my favourite."

She raises both of her eyebrows and leans close. "And the _autograph_?"

His lips stretch a little wider, and he rifles through his coat pockets, producing a pen and a notepad. "May I have your autograph, Madame Lavorre?"

She practically _squeals_ , and grabs them from him, their hands momentarily touching as she does so. His palms are warm to the touch, and Jester for the first time sees his blackened fingertips. "Oh wow," she says, as she theatrically signs her name, adding a heart around it, "what happened to your hands?" He stills a little, and she bites the inside of her cheek. "You get _burned_ or something?"

"Or something," he says, after a charged silence. His voice is a little stilted, and he shoves the pen and notepad back from where he pulled them out. He clenches his hands into fists, but it seems more out of nervousness than anger. "Madame Lavorre..."

Jester puts her hands up, giving him a sheepish look. "Sorry." She bites her lower lip. "I don't know when to shut up sometimes." Jester opens the door to the kitchen, and he comes in after her wordlessly. "Ta-da! One of the _best_ parts of the Chateau."

He isn't looking at the kitchen, he's looking at _her_ , and it makes her skin darken along her neck from her blush. "Madame Lavorre," he says, his voice hesitant. "I don't think... that you don't know when to shut up." He winces. "I just... made dumb choices. I don't like talking about the stupidest things I've ever done."

"That's okay!" Jester says, without taking a pause. She walks over to the counter where she knows the _best_ cookies are hidden. "I do, though. I have _so many_ stories of how I fucked up, I'm going to bore you with them." She grabs the large jar and opens it, before offering it to Caleb. "Like how one time when I tried to take one of these cookies, I dropped the _entire jar_ , and it all shattered and all the cookies were ruined."

He stares at the open jar for a moment, and then hesitantly takes one. She watches eagerly as he puts it into his mouth and chews. "This is... nice," he says, after he finishes. He looks at the wide smile on Jester's lips, and he blushes even further. "Danke."

Jester grabs a couple cookies out of the jar with one hand and shoves them into her mouth. "De rien," she says, her voice muffled, and Caleb actually lets out a little half-laugh. "Hey," she pouts, as she finishes chewing. "Be nice to _Madame Lavorre_."

"Forgive me," he says, his voice earnest like he thinks she's being serious. _Fuck_ , Jester thinks, at his averted gaze. He stares at the white marble kitchen counter, anxiously wringing his hands. "You just—it isn't everyday you see someone in a beautiful evening gown stuffing their faces and having crumbs on their lips."

Jester looks away self-consciously. "Well, you _know—_ " she begins, wiping her face.

He puts his hands up, his face alarmed. "Oh, no, I wasn't being critical, just..." He looks almost _miserable_ , running his hands through his hair as he looks at her. "It's—just... very cute."

Jester snaps her gaze back to him, her eyes big and round, and he curls even further into himself. "You think I'm _cute_?" A smile worms its way back onto her mouth, but it's... softer, this time. Less bright, and more inquisitive. "You feeling _really horny_ right now, Cayleb?"

Oh, he's _bright_ red. "Madame Lavorre," he chokes out, and he looks almost _guilty_. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean—"

Jester raises her own hands, laughing between her words as she tries to speak. "Don't— _heh_ —listen to me, Cayleb— _heh_ —I'm just being _mean_ to the fresh meat."

"Mean," he echoes, and the redness recedes a little. "Oh, right." He awkwardly scratches the back of his neck. "Sorry I'm not such a... great sport."

"You're the _greatest._ " Jester closes the jar and puts it back in the cabinet where she found it. "You're so _responsive_." He stills for a moment once more, at her teasing and suggestive tone, and _gods_ , she could play this game with him for _hours_ —he's so _cute_ when he's losing his mind.

Jester knows she has an _effect_ on men. She's known this since the first time a man tried to proposition her when she was twenty-one years old, looking for a quiet place to sketch in her book. She inherits her mother's looks, but it's her loud voice and her overeager, stumbling flirtations that push them away. Mama knows how to be what people want her to be —it's her job, after all. Jester has mastered that skill in a different way. In terms of her sexuality, she's awkward and stilted, but when it comes to _supporting_ people, and making them be her _friend_ and _like her_? She's the fucking best.

Jester thinks about Blude forgetting her and scowls. Not enough, though. Not always.

So _yeah_ , Jester is used to people hanging around with her, but not like this. Not like they want her to take them _immediately_. Even those who happen to be attracted to her in this way get sidetracked by all the gorgeous people who dwell at the Chateau. Caleb Widogast is staring at her like he wants her lips pressed up against his sternum, and feels _guilty_ about that, and yeah... this hasn't happened in a good, long while. She's going to tease this out.

"Madame Lavorre," he says, and she realizes she's been staring at him with a considering gaze for a little _too_ long.

"Let me show you my _balcony_ ," she retorts without skipping a beat, and immediately passes by him into the main lobby.

He stumbles to catch up to her. "I'm not—is this really necessary? I'm going to be working as a _janitor_ , I don't—"

Jester pouts, walking up the staircase. She's still faster than him in her ridiculously high heels, and she swivels slightly, to smirk down at him as he catches up. "Oh," she says, "should I _carry you_ or something?"

Caleb catches up, and his eyes search her face. "Madame Lavorre," he says, his voice soft. "I think you may be a _menace_."

Jester beams, and nearly pulls him along, but _remembers_ at the last second. He gazes at her outstretched hand, and then back to her, and the grateful smile on his lips makes her want to maybe _giggle_. "Come on, _Cayleb_!"

She _races_  up the stairs, and listens to his footfalls behind her as he _follows_.

_I could make a mess out of you_ , she thinks. _It could be a masterpiece, what I could do to you._

He follows, and he follows, and he follows.

 

Caleb looks rather nice on her balcony, like she predicted. The wind plays with his hair _really well_ , like ethereal fingers are running through them, and it's _nice_. He looks _nice_. She's managed to push him into taking off his coat because _honestly Cayleb, how are you not having a heatstroke right now_ , and she can now catch even more details of his frame.

His shirt is a little unbuttoned near the top, and she can catch some hair along the top of his chest. He's wearing a simple linen white shirt, and his sleeves are rolled up—curiously still, he wears bandages along his forearms. The light that emanates from the lamps compliments his skin beautifully, and she loves how the shadows play on his sharp, angular face. It makes everything feel so _romantic_ , somehow. Like he's a secret boyfriend, coming in the middle of the night to steal kisses from her. The thought makes her smile, but Jester thinks maybe, watching him widen his eyes as he notices her staring at him, she's the only one who's going to be stealing _anything_ tonight.

"Cayleb?" she says, her voice hushed.

"Ja?" He's leaning against the railing, admiring the view of the ocean. Jester likes this about him—she hasn't admired the ocean in a good while, having been trapped in her room for so long as a child. The sight got maddening, somewhere along the way. She likes that Caleb admires the ocean—it almost feels like the waves lapping against the shore are anchoring _her_ , given how completely focused on Caleb she feels.

"You ever have something _really nice_ , but it was the only thing you were _allowed to have_ , so you started _hating it_?"

He's quiet for a second. "You first."

Jester pouts. "But I _asked_. And you're _fresh meat_."

He raises an eyebrow at her petulant tone. "It's a strange question, Madame Lavorre." He pushes away a loose strand of hair in front of his face, and slumps his shoulders. "Highly _specific_. I have no idea how to answer."

"Yes or no, Widogast." Jester sticks her tongue out at him. "That's the _opposite_ of specific. And the answer is _yes_ , for me." _The ocean. The cabinets. The walls. The Chateau. The dresses_.

_Her mother_. Oh _gods_ , just thinking that shit makes Jester want to maybe throw up.

Caleb thinks for a moment, and then sighs. His shoulders slump, and Jester watches his arms under those bandages tense slightly. "Ja. _Yes_ for me as well." 

... _Fuck_ , Jester wants specifics. She bites her lip to distract herself, and then she says, "You ever fucked someone on a balcony before?"

Caleb stares at her with wide eyes, and then, when he sees her impish smile, puts his hands on his face and sighs, deeply. "You..." He lets his voice trail off, and gives her a long look. "You _really_ want to know, Madame Lavorre?"

Jester nods, her hair getting loose and messy from her eager movement. She clasps her hands together. "I _always_ want to know, Cayleb."

"I haven't." Jester nods again, having expected this answer, but then he adds, "I've fucked in a car, though. In an office. Those were... adventurous enough for me."

Jester _gawks_ at him, and he averts his gaze, embarrassed. "It's okay, Cayleb," she finally says, her voice serious. "I haven't fucked on a balcony either." _I haven't fucked, period._

Caleb makes a noise that's between a laugh and a wheeze. "Is this some kind of hazing?" He sounds genuinely curious. "Do you tease every person who comes to be under the employ of the Lavish Chateau so mercilessly?"

Jester gives him an innocent look. "I'm being _nice_ , though. Normally there are _actual_ pranks."

"This whole conversation is a prank," Caleb counters, and Jester for a second wonders if he's honestly upset, but his lips are curved upwards. "You're playing a dangerous game, Madame Lavorre."

"Oh?" Jester furrows her eyebrows, pretending to be extremely confused. "What _game_?"

He hums under his breath. "What would you do if I flirted back?" he asks, sounding genuinely curious. There's something sharp, almost bitter, about his voice, and Jester could listen to him _forever_. He's talking to her, but also _not_. She wonders if he's talking to the ocean, and if the ocean is saying back, _Don't bother to try, no one thing is enough for Jester Lavorre, she's empty._

"Lose my mind with arousal, probably," she answers, and he almost scoffs. "You can ask me two questions, since I asked two." She tilts her head. "Well, _actuallyyy_ , you can ask _one_ , because I just answered something."

He sighs, and looks up, up, _up_ , all the way up at the stars. "Would you like to meet my cat?"

Jester nearly _grabs_ him in delight. She's practically jumping, having taken off her heels as they entered her room. "Kitty?" she says, with astonished eyes. "You have a kitty, Caleb Widogast?"

He smiles. "I'll bring Frumpkin tomorrow. He's at home right now, in my shitty house I'm renting."

Jester tilts her head, dreaming about a cat named Frumpkin, owned by a pretty and flushing janitor named Caleb. Frumpkin would a very good boy, with soft hair and nice eyes like his human. She looks down at her lovely blue dress, that she can't wear to the dance hosted by the Sharpes, and then looks at the moon, and the shifting water. Something seething maybe snaps in her, and she turns to Caleb. "Take me to your house."

He lets out a little half-laugh that dies in his throat when he realizes she's fucking _serious_. "Madame Lavorre," he says, his voice hesitant, "is that even _allowed_?"

Jester rolls her eyes. "I'm an _adult_ , Cayleb." She sounds a _little_ bitter. "I don't need to be _chaperoned_."

"It's the middle of the night," he points out.

Jester leans close. "If I want to follow a pretty man home," she breathes, admiring how the rise and fall of his chest gets a little uneven, "who is anybody to stop me?" She thinks she can see the _stars_ reflected in those damn eyes. " _Take me, Cayleb_."

He shakes his head a little at her facsimile of a sultry voice. "Unfair," he says, his eyes already far away. He's planning all this out, just because she asked. "You're so _unfair_."

She giggles. "Welcome to Nicodranas."

 

They resolve to sneak out by climbing down the large tree near Jester's balcony. The entire episode is so _stupid_ and so _needless_ , but she's quickly discovering Caleb won't say no to her, and is willing to do just about _anything_. He's laying in the dirt right now, his linen shirt smeared with mud, and he's _laughing_ , as Jester holds onto the tree for dear life, feeling the wood scratch against her skin and her dress as she forces herself to slide down, inch by inch. " _Help me_ ," she wails, biting her lower lip as she stares nervously at the ground.

Caleb gets up onto his feet, and tilts his head as he watches her lovely dress get absolutely _ruined_. "You're a metre and a half from the ground, Madame Lavorre." He's smiling at the absolutely _miserable_ expression on her face. "You can aim for me if you fall, I'm already dirty." Jester shakes her head, and Caleb crosses his arms. "At this point, you're only prolonging your suffering." She scrunches her nose at his matter-of-fact tone and he sighs. "I wanted to leave through the front. It was so busy no one would've noticed. This was _your_ idea."

"I know," Jester says, trying to appear confident. She feels her eyes beginning to water, betraying her ruse, and Caleb's face almost immediately becomes gentler, seeing how genuinely afraid she is.

He comes close, and drapes the coat over the front of his chest. Jester watches as he then raises his arms, and gives her an encouraging smile. "Fall onto me," he calls out. "My coat will make sure the dirt on me doesn't stain your dress more."

Her lower lip wobbles. "You're _really_ weak though, Cayleb."

His face becomes a little brittle, and Jester watches with dismay as the smile kind of freezes on his face. "I'm doing my best, Madame Lavorre." His voice is quiet. There's something a little heartbreaking about him standing there, being so willing to look completely ridiculous just so her pretty blue dress doesn't get fucked up. She wonders if this is what Juliet saw, when she looked out her balcony. Romeo, laid bare, with soft eyes, making a fool of himself.

It's been two hours, and Jester has him like this. She... she kind of hates herself, sometimes.

Caleb, for one wonderful second, feels firm against her, when she jumps onto him. His body is warm, and solid, and _there_ , and for that one moment, Jester loses herself, closing her eyes and letting out a soft sound.

Then they collapse, and though Jester is _fine_  over Caleb's brown coat, she knows from the _splat_ sound that was made when they impacted that Caleb's back is thoroughly _smeared_. They stay there for a second, her on top of him, and Caleb gives her a weak smile. "I told you," he whispers. "I told you I'd catch you."

Jester looks at him with disbelief, and then, unable to help herself, she _giggles_. Her hair falls like a curtain around their faces, obscuring them from the rest of the world. "And the ground just happened to catch _you._ " Her eyes are gleaming. Jester puts her hands on his chest, and pushes off him to get up, and Caleb stays still, looking a little mesmerized. "Get up, Cayleb, I want to see your _cat_."

He stumbles to his feet, still looking, to her infinite delight,  _dazed_ , and then they begin to walk, walk, _walk_ , walk along the beach until they reach the streets of Nicodranas.

The sand feels nice against Jester's feet. The sidewalk feels significantly _less_ nice. "Ow," she hisses, wincing as she steps on a pebble. There aren't that many people out now, so her embarrassment is less palpable, but _fuck_ , a very pretty man is watching her get bruises on her feet because she decided to be an absolute _moron_ and forget her heels. He's staring at her, a little troubled, and she says, her voice light, "Don't offer to _carry_ me, Cayleb." He looks a little startled, and she smirks. "I don't want you to get _injured_ , you know."

He looks down. "You're right." Caleb sounds quiet. "I'm very weak. But you can wear my shoes, if you'd like."

She widens her eyes, and looks at his worn out, scuffed shoes. "I can't," she says, softly. "What about _your_ feet?"

"They're already rough." His voice is cold and dispassionate. "I'm also wearing socks, so I'll have better protection than your feet do."

Jester stares at him, a little shocked and a little stricken. "How?" she demands, poking him in the chest. He gives her a look of confusion, and she gestures wildly to all of him. "How do you have so much to give?"

Caleb looks at Jester like she's making a mean joke on his behalf—a joke that he can't quite understand. "I don't have very much," he says, bewildered.

"You've given me more than anyone else has, this entire day." She crosses her arms, and bites the inside of her cheek. " _Fuck_ , this entire week? This _month_? Why are you so _unselfish_?"

He sighs, and rubs his bandaged arm, his face looking uncomfortable. "I'm really not." His cool eyes examine the intricacies of her face, and he looks a little saddened himself. "If you knew me at all, you would know just how selfish I've been." He takes off his shoes, and hands them to her.

Jester stares at them in her hands, and then feels a smile curl over her lips as thinks of something rather brilliant. She puts them on, humming under her breath, and Caleb waits as she ties the laces. Jester then looks to Caleb, and says, very seriously, "Would you let me touch you?"

He pauses, and his entire body seems to stiffen, before he says, his face flat, "... Ja."

She gives him an indulgent smile. "Thank you, Cayleb. Now, tell me if you _actually_ are okay with it?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Jester—"

"You're pretty cool, Cayleb." She smiles at him almost shyly. "I'm never gonna touch you unless you actually want me to. No matter how... _selfish_ you're being."

He stares at her with wide eyes, and then smiles almost helplessly—as if he didn't intend for all this to happen. As if he didn't intend to fall so hopelessly, so _quickly_. As if part of him is seething over the fact that he's here at all. As if she's made a mess of him. "You may touch me, Madame Lavorre."

Jester beams, and then reaches around him, pulling him off his feet under her strong, sure grip. He gazes at her with startled eyes, and she winks, pulling him close to whisper in his ear, "You probably have _no idea_ how you look to me right now." Her voice is a little smug, and a little dark, and she enjoys the way he stares at her with that flush. _Gods_ , he's been various shades of red all  _evening._ She should probably show him some mercy, but then again—Caleb doesn't seem like the type who  _likes_ mercy all that much.

She pulls him close as he gives her directions, and likes how he almost unconsciously curls into her. At one point he falls silent, and he's staring at his hands. He says, as if sensing her gaze, "We look ridiculous." Caleb tilts his head, and  _gods_ , he has to know how he looks, with that considering face and those  _eyes_. Everything about him screams that he doesn't know, and that's a fucking travesty, because he can have any lady he wants, if he could just learn to  _play his cards right_. "You don't have to do this, Madame Lavorre."

"I  _like_ doing this, though." She smiles down at him. "Are we close?"

"Arms getting numb?" There's an affectionate little smile playing on his lips, and he hesitantly touches her shoulder. "We're real close, you can just let go of me."

"Nope." She pops the  _p_ sound. "Give me directions, Monsieur Widogast, I'm going to see that fucking cat if it kills me."

There's a couple more winding streets, and then he directs for her to stop. She's almost sad to let him go—it's a unique feeling, having a little Zemnian man be bossy in her arms. She might miss it. Then again, she thinks, smirking as he goes through his pockets, looking for the keys, this might not be the last taste of this very strange experience.  


Caleb finally opens the door, and gestures for her to follow him inside. Jester comes close, and absentmindedly wraps an arm around his back, and he freezes. "Why—"

"You're  _warm_ ," she says, pressing her head into his shoulder blade. Then she stills, eyes widening as she lets go. " _Fuck_ , sorry, I didn't  _ask_ —"

"You may touch me," he says, his amusement palpable. Jester  _beams_ , and wraps _both_ arms around him. It's awkward to walk, but she wouldn't have it any other way—there's nothing quite like hugging someone knowing your expression of intimacy is  _exceedingly_ inconvenient for them. "Frumpkin," Caleb calls, and Jester looks over his shoulder, as a small orange-coloured cat looks up at them, his eyes bleary. The cat  _meows_ , and Jester  _giggles_ , immediately letting go of Caleb to pick up Frumpkin. "Sorry, Cayleb," she says, over her shoulder. "I picked your kitty over you."

He sighs. "It's fine, I'd pick my kitty over  _you_."

Jester gives him an  _extremely_ offended look, and also the middle finger, and Caleb  _laughs_. He leaves for another room, and Jester is left with Frumpkin. "He's real cute," she coos. "Now I  _know_ I can trust him—anybody who says they would pick  _anybody_ over you is a damn  _liar_." Frumpkin meows in agreement, and Jester  _squeals_.

There's a sudden sound, and Jester tenses, as music begins to fill the dark hallway of Caleb's house. She turns, and Caleb's standing there, fiddling with a small stereo placed on the table pressed against the wall of the hallway. It's a style she doesn't recognize, though she can tell there are vague Zemnian roots, and she raises an eyebrow at him. "It's a little  _late_ for a dance."

Caleb shakes his head, and walks to her. Jester stands very still as he approaches, and her eyes widen as he offers her a hesitant hand. "I, uh." He winces. "I know how to waltz." She continues to stare at him, holding Frumpkin, and his shoulders slump a little, though the stiff smile stays on his lips. "Though you might still want to play with  _Frumpkin_ —"

Jester moves forward, and grabs Caleb's hand in hers, holding Frumpkin with the other. "Don't make me choose, Caleb," she breathes. "You haven't yet."  


He raises an eyebrow. "I don't know what you mean."  


She sighs. "Today I had it  _all_." She tilts her head, and leans into him, and then they're swaying together, Frumpkin held between them. "I was so angry a couple hours ago," she confesses, in his ear. "I was so angry I thought I might die of it."

There's a soft silence after her admission. "I'm glad you didn't," Caleb says, after a moment. His hands hesitantly find their way around her waist. "I'm glad you're here."

"Me too." Jester smiles into his shoulder. She's not... she's not  _great_ , and neither is Caleb, but there's something about being here, being with  _him_ , that's making her feel  _divine_. Not in the shitty _can't have flaws_ kind of way. In the _I could stay in this man's arms forever_ kind of way.

Jester kind of loves this way.

**Author's Note:**

> Uptown girl  
> You know I can't afford to buy her pearls  
> But maybe someday when my ship comes in  
> She'll understand what kind of guy I've been  
> And then I'll win
> 
> —Billy Joel, Uptown Girl


End file.
